


in a world where things come and go

by preciousthings



Series: i will hold onto you [3]
Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 03:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16946115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preciousthings/pseuds/preciousthings
Summary: As a general rule, Jon tries to avoid LAX.(Jon’s been meeting Ronan in arrivals since the first time he flew to LA, six months after Jon moved, ten months after they got together. He’s done it every time since, one of the closest things they have to a tradition.)





	in a world where things come and go

**Author's Note:**

> i can not stress enough how fictional this is. the fourth wall is your friend! please respect that and the locked nature of this fic! <3
> 
> it's finals week and i'm doing this instead. 
> 
> thanks to lotts for the quick beta!

As a general rule, Jon tries to avoid LAX.

It’s like, the worst place in the world, and he’s from New York; they have LaGuardia, and still, Jon would take that over LAX any day.

There aren’t many people he’ll go to LAX for, and even when he does, he usually just parks and waits in his car. It’s never worth it to actually park his car and wait inside arrivals, always too crowded and loud, but no matter what, he’s always waiting inside when Ronan’s plane lands.

Jon’s been meeting Ronan in arrivals since the first time he flew to LA, six months after Jon moved, ten months after they got together. He’s done it every time since, one of the closest things they have to a tradition. Ronan’s always waiting too, whether Jon is flying into JFK or LaGuardia or Bradley, at three in the morning or four in the afternoon, he’s always there with a smile on his face even if it’s been 36 hours since he last slept and he has 30 other things that need his attention.

So, Jon’s at the airport again, sitting on a bench near baggage claim, waiting for Ronan, Pundit sitting at his feet. Eight years in, and Jon’s lost track of how many times he’s been in this spot. It’s nearing midnight on a Sunday and he expected the late hour to have some kind of effect on the traffic and general terrible-ness of LAX, but it hasn’t. It’s fine, though, he’ll have Ronan again in less than an hour, and even though he’ll have to sit in even more traffic to drive home, Ronan will be in the passenger seat with Pundit, holding Jon’s hand over the console.

Eight years of this, and Jon thinks at some point he probably should have gotten tired of it, of all of it. Of the back and forth, the hellos in airports and the painful fucking goodbyes, Ronan’s voice over a phone call being the closest thing Jon can have to a hug sometimes, when all he needs is the physical touch. Jon loves him. Jon loves him more than he’s ever loved anyone, and eight years with him doesn’t even feel that long, but on the bad days it feels like Jon’s been doing this his entire life without even the smallest step toward change. And it’s just—how many more times will Jon wait in arrivals until Ronan flies into LAX without a return ticket to his actual home already booked?

Jon hates these thoughts, because he always just feels bad for thinking them. Like—Ronan is one of the best things to ever happen to Jon, and he knows he should just shut up and be grateful for the time they _do_ get to spend together, the strings of days, or weeks if they’re lucky, where he can re-integrate himself into Ronan’s life before he has to pull back again. This is all they’ve ever known, because Jon left right after they started dating, because even Ronan wasn’t enough to keep Jon in D.C. after he left the White House, so how could Jon miss something they never really had to begin with? Eight years and nothing’s changed. Jon still falls in love with him more and more, even though he—

He asked Ronan to marry him once, years ago, and Ronan wasn’t ready then, and they haven’t really talked about it since then. It’s fine. Jon’s not, like, dwelling on marriage, and a piece of paper from the government, or lack thereof, won’t change how much they love each other. They have a dog, a place to call home on both coasts, eight years of history and so much love between them; that’s what this is about, not a piece of paper, or the term ‘husband,’ though someday it might be nice to—

Pundit barks and jumps up, pulling Jon out of his thoughts, which is probably for the best if he’s being honest. She’s suddenly very awake, and it takes Jon a second to actually realize that it’s because Ronan is walking up to them.

“Our dog noticed me before you did,” Ronan says, in place of any other kind of greeting.

“She’s very observant,” Jon says, standing up. “She gets that from her dad.”

“Which one?” Ronan asks.

“Me, duh.” Jon smirks. He pulls Ronan into a quick hug, nothing lingering here. He knows the drill by now. “Hi.”

“Hi, Jonathan,” Ronan says, smiling.

“How was the flight?” Jon asks, as Ronan bends down to pet Pundit. Pundit is _thrilled_ that he’s back, Jon can tell.  

“It was fine,” Ronan shrugs. “Lets go home, yeah? I have news for you.”

“Tell me now,” Jon says. “You can’t just say that and then leave me hanging in _traffic_.”

“I’ll tell you at home, c’mon,” Ronan says, and he pulls Jon’s arm toward the exit.

“You’re a monster,” Jon jokes. Ronan’s still walking, but Jon pauses, just—looking at Ronan, who hasn’t even noticed that Jon stopped. He just got off a cross-country flight after working most of the day and he still looks good, dressed more casually than Jon has seen him in months in one of Jon’s t-shirts that he took a long time ago and sweats, hair messy and glasses on. He smiles and shakes his head a little; there are some days that he still can’t believe he gets to have  _this_ Ronan, the Ronan that not many other people see, who is funnier than anyone probably assumes, and laughs at all of Jon’s jokes no matter how bad they are, who steals t-shirts and never gives them back, and is still the only person Jon’s ever felt comfortable enough with that he’d full-on cuddle all night long. And, god, Jon loves him so much.

Ronan turns around, realizing that Jon’s not directly behind him anymore. “Are you coming or what?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jon says, walking a little quicker to catch up. “I’m really glad you’re here. Pundit really missed you.”

“Just Pundit?” Ronan smirks, knowingly.

“I did, too,” Jon shrugs, nonchalant. He knows that Ronan knows he did, it’s never really something he’s had to say. It goes unsaid in every “I love you,” in every “see you soon,” and in every “thank you for being here.”

“Love you,” Ronan says, quiet. They’re walking side by side through the parking lot, Pundit between them, and Ronan’s hand knocks against Jon’s. It’s dark and there aren’t any people around as far as Jon can tell, so he tangles their fingers together and squeezes Ronan’s hand gently. Ronan squeezes back, no hesitation. He has to let go once they get to Jon’s Jeep. Jon lets Ronan scoop Pundit up so she can curl up in his lap in the passenger seat.

The drive back home is pretty quiet, in the comfortable way that they’ve perfected over the years. Jon’s eyes keep darting back to Ronan, like he’s making sure Ronan won’t disappear or something. Realistically, Jon knows he won’t, but stranger things have happened.

“Why can’t you just tell me your news now?” Jon asks, when they’re a little more than halfway home. Ronan’s eyes are closed, head tipped back against the headrest. Jon would think he fell asleep if it weren’t for his hand in Pundit’s fur, idly petting her back. “Isn’t, like, your literal job to tell news, you big-shot Pulitzer Prize winner?

“It’s not that kind of news,” Ronan says, eyes still closed. “Personal news.”

Jon grips the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. It’s not—if it were bad, Ronan wouldn’t be stalling like this, Jon knows that. If it were bad, Ronan would just say it, so they can figure out where to go from there. Jon’s been on the receiving end of too many of those bad news phone calls, but they get through it. They always have, and Jon suspects they always will.

It’s just—Ronan’s always just as open about the good stuff. Jon’s usually one of the first people Ronan tells anything to, and it’s so unlike him to purposefully tell Jon he has news and then withhold it. And for what? To have a little fun? Fuck with Jon a little bit? Scare him into thinking the worst?

“You wouldn’t fly out here just to break up with me, would you? You’ve always been too good for me, and like, maybe you’re finally realizing what I did the night you first kissed me.” Jon says, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. It’s mostly a joke anyway, the kind Jon’s been making since their first date, back when it wasn’t as much of a joke as it is now, but deep down, Jon still feels it a little.

“Shut up,” Ronan mumbles, no real heat behind it. “ _You’re_ too good for _me_ , and no, it would be a waste of time to fly here, break up with you and then leave. I’m not breaking up with you.” He cracks one eye open and reaches with his free hand to take Jon’s right off the steering wheel, lacing their fingers together and pressing a kiss to the outside of Jon’s hand.

“What the hell, Farrow,” Jon mutters, so, so fucking fond. “I still have to drive the car.”

“Take me home, Jonathan,” Ronan smirks.

“I’m trying my best to, but you’re _very_ distracting,”

“So ignore me,” Ronan says, but he squeezes Jon’s hand, which is like, not doing much to help Jon ignore him. Jon squeezes back anyway, just because he can.

He never realizes how much he misses little things like this until he has them again. Missing Ronan is just like—Jon carries that with him whenever Ronan isn’t around. He doesn’t even realize to miss the little things because he’s so busy missing _everything_. But when they’re together, Jon remembers the little things he doesn’t always have, like the exact pitch of Ronan’s laugh, the way his hands are always cold but Jon would still gladly hold them all day, having someone around who just _gets_ him without having to think or try too hard and being able to be that person for Ronan, too.

“Wake up,” Jon says once they’re a few blocks from home, because he’s almost positive Ronan’s asleep next to him now, his breathing even, and his hand not moving on Pundit’s back anymore. If he weren’t driving, he’d take a picture of this moment. Ronan’s head is still tipped back, mouth open slightly. He’s still holding Jon’s hand, and their dog is still in his lap, but the most important thing is just that he’s _there_.

Ronan mutters something completely incomprehensible and sits up a little straighter, blinking a few times to orient himself. “Thanks,” he says, more understandable.

Jon pulls into the driveway and puts the car in park. “Welcome home,” he says. Ronan gets out of the car holding Pundit like she’s an actual human baby and goes straight for the front door, unlocking it with the spare key, while Jon grabs Ronan’s bag from the trunk.

 

 

 

“Can you just _tell me_ now,” Jon sighs, climbing into bed next to Ronan. Ronan hasn’t unpacked, just dropped his bag and sat down in their bed while Jon took Pundit out. Ronan dog-ears the page of the book he’s reading and drops it down onto the floor next to him. Jon settles comfortably against Ronan’s chest and closes his eyes when Ronan starts to run a hand through his curls.

“My lease is up next month,” Ronan says.

It crosses Jon’s mind that maybe he won’t re-sign his lease, maybe he’ll stop signing leases altogether. It seems like too big of a jump for Ronan to make without talking to him at all, and there’s still a lot of things keeping in him New York, so—“Are you renewing it? You like that place, right?” he asks. “Or are you considering a penthouse this time around?”

Ronan shakes his head. “No, I, uh, I have a new place already.”

There it is. It was dumb to hope. It usually is, because Ronan doesn’t live the kind of life he can just pause because of his partner, and it’s not like Jon really can either, can’t just up and move to New York because that’s where Ronan is. If it were that easy, he would’ve done it years ago.

“Oh, cool,” Jon says, nonchalant, opening his eyes and craning his neck a bit to look at Ronan. “Is it near your old one?”

“It’s pretty far, actually,” Ronan says.

“Hmm? Are you moving to, like, Chelsea? You’ve mentioned that area before, yeah?”

“No, it’s like, three-thousand miles away, or something. I hear West Hollywood is pretty nice.”

“Ronan,” Jon says, sitting up and turning to face Ronan. “Don’t—”

“Why would I joke about this?” Ronan says softly, as if he could read Jon’s mind. Jon knows he’s _right_ , but it still doesn’t feel like something that should be happening. “We looked at houses together and picked this one out together. Why wouldn’t I want to actually move into our house now that I have the chance?”

“Your job? Everything else keeping you tied to the east coast?” Jon says, a little exasperated.

“I worked it out. Everything’s worked out, I’m—we can finally make this our home,” Ronan says, clearly trying to stay soft, but landing a little harder than he intends. “Jonathan, do you not want me to move in with you?”

“I do,” Jon nods, and he doesn’t know how to convey how serious he is about this now, after a bad snap-judgement. “I just—I really didn’t think this was something that you could do. Last time we talked about it, it _wasn’t_ something you could do.”

“I wouldn’t be telling you this if it weren’t something I could do right now,” Ronan says.

“So it’s, what, completely settled, then?”

“Pretty much,” Ronan shrugs. “I didn’t want to tell you anything until it was pretty much official. Surprise, I can finally move in with you.”

“Does that mean it’s official?” Jon asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“If you say yes, it’s official. I’ll be here for a week like we’d planned, back in New York for two, and once that’s done, I’m home.”

“Yes,” Jon says, a little too quickly. As if, in any universe, he would have said no. “Move in with me and take up half of my closet with your stupid suits even though you wear my t-shirts half of the time and walk our dog at three in the morning if she has to go out.”

“You make it sound so appealing.” Ronan laughs, and the leftover tension between them is gone, just like that. They’re okay, they’re _more_ than okay, and Ronan is really moving to L.A.

“Well, yeah. I’m here, so…” Jon smirks.

“You’re here,” Ronan repeats, all soft and fond, and Jon—Jon really fucking loves him, feels it deep in his chest, overwhelmed with it. He shuffles around until he’s settled against Ronan’s chest again, and then he realizes, like, how much of a game changer this is. This is what every night will be like and Jon’s done falling asleep in an empty bed. Ronan in his—in _their_ bed, falling asleep next to Jon every night is the kind of stuff Jon would have laughed at a year ago, if you told him he’d get to have this. Two hours ago, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever stop intercepting Ronan at airports for another three days, or two weeks, or however long he’d get to steal Ronan for that time around, and now Ronan’s _home_. Life comes at you fast, or something.

Not that Jon’s complaining, he’d never.

**Author's Note:**

> i hang out on tumblr @ofspringreturning and twitter @matbarzaI (the L is a capital i)!


End file.
